


The Book Wolf

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Deaton tells them about the library, one that holds all knowledge of not only Beacon Hill’s history, but of cultures and unknown civilizations, and only those with true intent will be able to find it. Around ten years ago, the place had been closed off to anyone by the spirit that resided there."</p><p>Or the one where Derek is a thousand year old immortal spirit librarian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off of the episode of Avatar the Last Airbender titled "The Library."
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, my URL is obriensnipples! <3

The preserve in Beacon Hills is desolate, goes on for miles and miles, and has been empty for years. It is a place that doesn’t come into casual conversation because no one knows a single thing about it, but then Stiles and Scott, in the throes of desperation of finding out how to defeat Deucalion, hear of it from Deaton.

 

\--

 

Stiles drives past the preserve sometimes. He likes to stare off mand wonder what could be out there on the deserted land. There’s really not too much in Beacon Hills in terms of mystery.

 

One of those times driving through there, he’s kidnapped by a group of alphas trying to take over the town. It happens way too fast, his Jeep stopping with a jolt and then someone dragging him out to jab a needle into his neck. He doesn’t try to fight against the teeth threatening to bite into his neck anyways.

 

He wakes up in a cold dark basement, with his hands bolted to the wall over his head. The first attempt at conversation with his homely captors ends with him falling unconscious with a blow to his temple from a woman’s long-nailed foot, so he doesn’t try to do that again.

 

The rescue doesn’t exactly go as planned, this time.

 

\--

 

Stiles, with a split lip and shining eyes carries Erica through the back of the vet’s office to sit along the bag of food stacked up against the wall. She breathes in sharp-- her ribs broken, probably splintered, and following immediately after he thinks it, she coughs twice, some blood dripping down her lip. She spits out and curses.

 

“Just-- just breathe” Stiles tries to say, reassuringly.

 

Her eyes shine as she opens them. “I will spit blood on you this time,” Erica growls, eyes slipping closed again in exhaustion. Stiles knows her words have more bite only because of her current state. He offers her a smile.

 

“Unnecessary, I think. But thanks for coming to get me.” At this, he at least gets the slightest hint of a smile.

 

“Where’s--” Erica begins. Her eyes are glazing over a little bit, and Stiles wants to slap her a little to wake her up but then thinks better of it. “Where’s Boyd?”

 

Stiles’s next breath hurts. Maybe it’s sympathy. “He’s helping Isaac. He’s not nearly as bad as you two but he’ll need some healing.”

 

Erica coughs again, harder this time. “I did fine.”

 

“Yes, you did.” Stiles knows she’s only staying awake to wait for Boyd to show up. It’s quite bittersweet.

 

Isaac, meanwhile, comes in through the doorway, scanning the room for Erica right away. Stiles feels sad when his gaze drops down to where Erica’s rib is protruding and his expression sinks. Isaac limps along the concrete floor to sit next to her with a knife still lodged in his leg.

 

Stiles takes this as his cue to leave because he really isn’t in the mood to watch him convince Erica to yank it out. Deaton passes him halfway out and pats him placatingly on the shoulder. Stiles tries not to shrug it off, the exhaustion keeping him still anyways. He needs serious refreshment if he’s going to not end up malnourished from nearly 2 days without any food besides animal crackers.

 

But first, he looks for Scott.

 

He finds him in the open office, food set out in front of him. Scott is rubbing at his mouth, eyes downcast. “Hey,” he breathes out, putting his hand down. Stiles gently bumps at Scott’s shoulder as he takes a seat, peels an orange, but even Scott’s smile is tired-looking. Stiles can see all of his fear and uncertainty in his gaze, that he feels like he’s in way over his head with all of this.

 

“They’re asleep,” Deaton tells the both of them. “It will take some time for them to heal, but I expect they will make a full recovery. As you know, a wound from an alpha with more power would do more damage.” Scott nods gratefully, and looks more at ease than before. Stiles feels like it has something to do with the pack bond, but they really don’t understand too much about that.

 

“So this is complicated,” Stiles begins. Scott nods, like that suffices all he was planning on saying. Stiles has always been good at that. Deaton waits for him to continue, so he does.  “I don’t know how long we can keep this up, Doc. For a bunch of Disney villains, they’ve actually thoroughly kicked our asses. I got kicked in the face.”

 

“There has to be a way to find out how to stop their powers,” Scott pipes up.

 

Deaton lets out a sigh. “I don’t have the answers for you. Long ago, I may have.”

 

Stiles, mouth full of chocolatey granola (he mentally puts a note away to compliment Deaton’s choice in snacks later), looks back up. “Did you _forget_ or something?” he comments. Deaton lifts up a hand, motioning for Stiles to lean closer so he can shine a light in his eyes to do a concussion check.

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“Then what is it?” Scott asks, because Stiles is still blinking the pain out of his eyeballs. He rubs at his eyelids and wills the spots away. Deaton hums, not necessarily happy, but not too concerned either. And Stiles hasn’t puked or whited out the whole time, so he must be A+ right now.

 

Deaton tells them about the library, one that holds all knowledge of not only Beacon Hill’s history, but of cultures and unknown civilizations, and only those with true intent will be able to find it. Around ten years ago, the place had been closed off to anyone by the spirit that resided there.

 

Magic alone (the kind that Stiles possesses only a miniscule amount of anyways) will not assist them in finding it. Only those pure of heart will be able to gain access, Deaton explains to them with the utmost gravity in his voice. Stiles doesn’t laugh, but it’s a near thing.

 

It’s just no wonder no one has ever found it.

 

But Scott’s eyes are earnest, kind, and even Stiles’s stance relaxes a little bit when he says that they’re going to find it. He believes him.

 

And the benefits of finding a library with all of the knowledge in the world? Stiles is all speeds ahead on the plan after a while, willing to go on a little faith at least.

 

\--

 

Stiles drives them, but Scott has to tear the sign out of the way to get through the backroads. It’s tentative, the strategy, and they don’t really know where the library _should_ be. Because no one has come back from that place since Deaton, and even he doesn’t have the memory to completely relay a path.

 

“I’m a little scared about the state of my tires,” Stiles mumbles as he tears through slight foliage spreading over the loose-gravel road. It’s like a scene straight out of a horror movie, the trees are covered with moss and arch over the car like they’ll swallow them whole. Scott has been silent the whole ride; Stiles knows it’s from nerves but he can be resilient for the both of them. It’s hard enough on Scott’s that he’s new at being an alpha when they’re still figuring out what colleges to go to.

 

Stiles can deal with abstract supernatural creatures well enough. He is sitting next to his _werewolf_ friend, after all.

 

After a couple of minutes, they can’t drive anymore because the road turns too rocky and thins out into nothing. Stiles puts his Jeep in park and they both get out into the warm air. A twig cracks behind them. They both turn to look and Stiles lets out an exaggerated gulping sound.

 

“Ruh-roh.”

 

Scott says “Stay by me,” his eyes shining as he takes in their surroundings, and Stiles readily agrees as soon as they start through the tiny walking path. It’s really creepy and woodland creatures shouldn’t scare him as much as they do but he jumps whenever he sees a rabbit in the foliage, which in turn scares Scott, ridiculously.

 

The trees are so tall over them that they have ample sunlight and Stiles keeps looking up to try and gauge how far they’ve gone. Out of the corner of his eye, something tugs at his attention. He turns his head sharply, stopping short, and Scott turns back.

 

“What?”

 

“I thought I saw something,” Stiles looks and squints again. There is nothing there but the slope of the hill. But Stiles’s eyes begin to feel dry and he feels the need to blink. He rubs at his eyelids, and there still isn’t anything there, but his eyesight is starting to blur too much for him to ignore. “I think it’s this way,” Stiles says, because it has to be. Stiles can’t describe the feeling, but it’s an intuition, a tingling in his scalp that he can’t shake.

 

So he steps forward through the trees and out of the deep woods, into the open area. “Stiles?” Scott says behind him.

 

“Yeah, I see it,” Stiles responds, looking up at the building that had appeared in front of his eyes. The house is of course huge, painted a dark gray with a few windows on the top floor. The ground has grass stemming from it and there is an oak tree on the side of the house that towers over it.

 

It’s not nearly as ominous as Stiles would have imagined, but he can also imagine it as the set of _The Addams Family_ , except for the butler waiting for them.

 

“Looks like I was right,,” he comments.

 

“This doesn’t look like a library.” Scott steps onto the front step and it creaks under his weight. Scott looks back to make sure Stiles is still there and Stiles follows him in.

The door opens silently and Stiles’s fingers tingle the slightest bit against the cold doorknob. They look around for a moment, and follow the single, large hallway into a group of rooms connected to the front. It is painted a medium-dark green and there’s actually a burning candle sitting on the desk right next to a lamp. There is a desk and papers strewn across it in the first room. Stiles picks them up and they’re drawings of anatomy of what looks like a fairy.

 

Stiles turns around and notices that Scott has gone through the next doorway and is paused there.

 

“Dude,” he says, looking up. Stiles nudges him out of the way.

 

“Did you find the--” Stiles begins, stopping short. “You found the library.”

 

“Yeah.” They both step inside, the door shutting with an echo behind them. When nothing pops out at them, Stiles’s shoulders relax. He glares into the dark, and then the light switches on suddenly. He jumps, but it just turns out that Scott has found the lightswitch.

 

“I guess there’s no one home,” he then says.

 

Scott licks his lips and looks at the stacks of dustless brown bookshelves towering over them. There seems to be endless amounts of floors above them, all filled with bookshelves, and Stiles can barely see the top of the building. The room is in a circle, stairways leading to each section.

 

The building is obviously bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside.

 

“I’m sure the spirit is out gardening or something,” Scott comments. “We should maybe wait for them.”

 

Stiles shakes his head; the silence echoes. “They know we’re here.” He picks up a completely new book and everything looks recently cleaned even though the place looks endless. “If they didn’t want us here, they would have let us know.” He sets the book back in its proper place and they set down the curved hallway.

 

“I suppose you’re right.” Scott takes his phone out and checks his battery. “Divide and conquer?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, a little distractedly because of the section they’d walked through that reads “ _magic and potions.”_ Some of the books are glowing on the shelves, and Stiles tries to keep focused on the task. “You take the next floor.”

 

Scott nods and touches his shoulder for a moment before setting his way up the stairs, hands in his pockets.

 

Stiles makes his way through the aisles that run in a spiral into what Stiles assumes is the middle of the room. He comes to a more worn out section of books right at the end that is obviously from long ago. A little sign hangs over the shelf that reads _“beasts”_ and that part lasts for at least six complete shelves. Stiles marvels at the organization of the ancient spirit but  then remembers that it's had all of this time to do this.

 

He picks one up about Wendigos and migratory patterns. It’s brown and has been used plenty in its long life. Interested, Stiles opens it up and fingers through the pages. The pages are yellow and Stiles sits on the carpet, which was surprisingly comfortable. “When their lives come into threat…” Stiles reads to himself.

 

After a couple of minutes, Stiles stands and shuts the book. He is just about to put it back on the shelf he’d gotten it from when the air thins and he turns to look around himself, arm still raised.

 

“Why have you come?” The voice booms, filling each crevice of the room with sound. Stiles drops the ancient book he’s holding and barely manages to catch it before it topples to the ground and breaks the spine. The thing is practically made of sawdust.

 

He composes himself and clutches the book to his chest. When he looks up, he nearly loses his grip on the book all over again.

 

A man is standing right at the edge of the bookshelf. Stiles is shocked at first to not find a misty formation but an actual _guy_. He is not any taller than Stiles, doesn’t tower, but he carries a _presence_ that Stiles detects right away. His hair is dark and framed by a sharp jawline and thick eyebrows. He’s dressed in what looks like a tunic and light blue jeans. It is as if he is halfway in the past and halfway in the present, and his eyes seem to hold indescribable knowledge.

 

The first thing that Stiles thinks is that he’s actually really hot.

 

“Hi,” Stiles starts and then clears his throat, wondering if the spirit can read minds too. That might have been a good thing to think of beforehand. “You must be the spirit that guards this place.”

 

The spirit is silent for a moment, stepping closer to him, looking him up and down. He looks up past his eyelashes then, “I asked you a question.” His voice is deep and seems unused. Stiles supposes he doesn’t get much company, but he’s obviously expecting an answer immediately.

 

“Stiles!” Scott interrupts Stiles’s response by running through the shelves towards them (it was stuck in his throat anyways, so the timing was actually good), his steps echoing in the room. The spirit looks to him and then to Stiles again when Scott reaches them.

 

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” the spirit tells them with gravity in his tone. Stiles swallows. “Now, I know that you have good intentions to get through my magical barrier. But what I want to know is why. Who are you?”

 

Stiles remember what Deaton had instructed them:

 

_“Remember, do not tell him that you are looking to bring someone down. He might choose to kill you if you lie to him and he finds out. You are simply--”_

 

“Just some guys in search of knowledge,” Stiles says, looking at Scott for backup, who nods ecstatically.

 

“And I’m a werewolf,” Scott adds.

 

“I’m aware,” hot-spirit guy says with some attitude. Stiles likes it. He has unreal looking eyes, a bright silver, that reflect the light in a perfect way. And every time they make eye contact, he feels a weird twist in his gut.

 

“We’re hoping to find some information on how he can control his shift,” Stiles lies, and his tongue feels like cotton in his mouth. “Maybe some history, and other information about supernatural beings.”

 

The spirit regards him for a long while. Stiles begins to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Then, the spirit looks to Scott and nods.

 

“I’ll permit it.”

 

“Phew,” Stiles and Scott sigh simultaneously.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles says to him. “I’m Stiles Stilinski and this is Scott McCall.”

 

“Stiles,” the spirit comments quietly. “An interesting name.”

 

Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Well, I’m certainly interesting.” Scott jabs his elbow into Scott’s side.

 

“You may call me Derek,” the spirit says to them. “The information you need is on the third floor. Stay if you please; you will not feel tired or hungry because of magic reinforcements around the building. Time will not pass either.” At his statement, a huge Great Dane comes out of the shadows and barks softly at Scott to follow him, and then he trots to the bottom of the stairs and sits down. The stairs must appear any time someone needs them, Stiles thinks, because they had been far away from here before.

 

“Thanks,” Scott says, looking just as confused. “I’m supposed to follow, right?”

 

Derek nods in acknowledgement. “I must warn you, though. If you try to steal anything from here, I _will_ tear your throats out.” Then he actually dissipates into the air and the smoke flies away, up to the unseeable ceiling.

 

Stiles watches him go and then looks at Scott. “That wasn’t creepy at all. You go with the dog.”  

 

Scott nods and starts up the stairs. “You’re not coming with?” he asks, looking back.

 

“No,” Stiles says, looking up at the books. “I’m going to look at this stuff. There could be something here too.”

 

“I’ll call you if I find something,” Scott offers and then he’s gone, and so is the staircase. Stiles blinks and then shakes his head.

 

“Magic,” Stiles says under his breath, and then with a swift look around, heads back the way he’d come initially. Once he reaches the aisle he wants, he pulls out the first book he sees titled _Emissaries in the Ages._

 

He takes a seat on the floor, and it has changed to a cool checker patterned marble, a stark change from the red carpet in the other areas. Stiles looks up when there’s a whooshing sound like wind above him, and Derek is suddenly there, standing next to him. He figures that the sound was for his benefit, but he still jolts in shock.

 

“Hey.”

 

Derek looks down at the book he is holding. “So you’re an emissary.”

 

Stiles looks around them at the bookshelves awkwardly. “Yeah. I think so. I was just curious. Sorry if I seemed suspicious.” Derek doesn’t say anything, and Stiles taps at the cover with his hands, motioning for him to sit down. Derek does, after a long moment, and his legs stick out ramrod straight. “Could you tell?”

 

Derek looks at him. “Not at first. You are difficult to read.”

 

Stiles chuckles softly. “Yeah. People usually tell me that.” At this, Derek actually smiles, and it’s totally weird. It’s weird that an ancient spirit actually smiles, but Stiles doesn’t really know why. Spirits are allowed to smile too; he probably enjoys his reading a lot. Or whatever. Maybe he likes playing fetch with his demon-dog. “What can you tell me about emissaries? It might be faster than reading through these.”

 

“You hold an important position in your pack.” Derek begins, rather than denying him. You are a support beam for your pack, if you will,” Derek tells him. Stiles watches him think over, and he wonders if Derek feels like stone because he looks perfectly molded like a statue. He resists the urge to touch him, sticks his hands between his legs. It doesn’t escape Derek’s notice, but Stiles waits for him to keep talking without looking at him.

 

“Emissaries serve as a link between the spiritual world and the world we are in. You possess minor amounts of magic but your strengths may grow with practice. You are meant to be a link between the past and present times and bring knowledge to your pack.”

 

“Are you an emissary?” Stiles has to ask.

 

Derek turns his head the slightest bit. “No,” he says, his eyebrows crinkling the slightest bit in confusion. For a moment, he is quiet. “I was a werewolf.” It’s obvious that Derek’s less comfortable now than when he’s spouting information at him.

 

“How did this happen to you then?”

 

Derek’s mouth twitches the slightest bit, and his eyes shimmer silver. “I chose this.”

 

“Not really a people person, huh?” Stiles feels like there may be a reason why he is in this form, but doesn’t want to push.

 

Derek eyes flash. “No.”

 

Stiles hums, because he doesn’t look _too_ mad. “Yeah, me neither. People suck sometimes.” Derek is watching him and he licks his lips once. “How long have you been alive, then?” he asks, changing the subject.

 

Derek surprisingly answers, “Just a little over one thousand years.”

 

“So you’re immortal?” Derek gives him a nod. Stiles nods back, looking him up and down. “You look really good for your age.”

 

Derek sighs like people hit on him all the time. Not that Stiles was hitting on him, or anything. Right. “Thank you. Was there anything else you needed to know?”

 

“Can you travel through time?”

 

“I used to,” Derek says, eyes shuttering off, and all of a sudden he is standing up. “If that’s all…” he adds before disappearing again, this time fading into a mist.

 

Stiles scratches at the book cover and realizes that his face has gotten a little hot in that time. He stands up and moves to put the book away before walking down the quiet corridor past more shelves.

 

\--

 

Stiles reads through at least four more books about the history of alchemy before Scott texts him. The time on his phone shows up as a bunch of zeroes instead of actual numbers.

“Derek?”

 

The spirit appears before he finishes the word, looking expectantly.

 

“Guess you weren’t kidding about the time not moving, huh?” Stiles shows him his phone. Derek squints a little bit at the screen and then backs away.

 

“Time does not exist here at all.”

 

“Cool,” Stiles tells him. “Oh yeah, this is a cell phone.”

 

Derek’s mouth twitches. “I know what a cell phone is.”

 

Stiles blushes, then realizes how close Derek is to him and then it spreads to his neck. “I didn’t know if you did, you’re ancient, dude.”

 

“I’ve lived through modern advancements,” Derek comments, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been to the future as well, I would be more qualified to teach _you_ about technology.”

 

“You don’t act very ancient,” Stiles notes with a grin.

 

Derek’s amused expression fades away almost immediately. “I could be more eloquent if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“No, you do you, man. It’s cool that you’re being hospitable and all that.” Not that he talks much, but. “So you like books better?” He doesn’t know why he’s making small talk with Derek, but the guy doesn’t seem too bad, and he’s probably lonely in such a big place.

 

“They’re easier to store.”

 

“Touché,” Stiles relents. His phone beeps again and the texts from Scott read, _dude where are you now??_ and then _nvm derek’s dog is leading me, he’s pretty cool._

 

Soon after, Scott joins them, running down the hall, Derek’s dog on his heel. “Dude!” he breathes. “There’s a room that _shows_ you the history of things, in your brain, I spent forever in there, there’s so much I know I can do now. Did you know I can feed pain from people?”

 

“That’s great!” Stiles looks excitedly, and Derek crosses his arms across his chest (holy biceps, Stiles is going to hell) and watches them.

 

“I’d like to stay more, if that’s okay,” Scott says to Derek. Derek nods immediately, silently and solemn. Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Cool, just thought I’d update you and tell you I was alive,” Scott tells but he’s already turning away and going back up the stairs. Derek’s dog gets up after licking at its paw in boredom and then the stairs zap away again.

 

“You’ve gotta teach me that. Can I do that?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes again.

 

\--

 

After another few hours (he can only assume because his phone is junk right now at telling time), Stiles calls Derek to make the stairway fall down so he can climb up. “What’s at the top?” Stiles asks him as they walk side-by-side, Derek’s hands in his pockets and Stiles holding onto the railing for his life. They’ve gone up two floors and there was an entire one dedicated to comic books and another for each war in the world’s history.

 

“Would you like to go up?” Derek offers, tone even and liquid-smooth.

 

“Can I? It’s not your secret lair or something, is it?”

 

Derek shakes his head. “It’s the one place where time is told, but all in a timeline. You can view any day in history.”

 

Stiles feels his interest being piqued. “How do I get up there?”

 

Then Stiles feels a force under his feet raising him, like he’s flying, but his feet are placed on the stairs still. After a moment of heart-pounding panic, he realizes that the stairs are moving, up and up and Derek is watching him, obviously gauging his reaction. So he gives Derek the finger and then holds on for his life.

 

Stiles straightens up when the stairs level out and he looks down at the nearly invisible spot of light on the first floor. “Whoa, okay, gonna get on the solid floor now,” he says, stepping onto the ground, looking resiliently straight ahead. He thinks he feels the brush of a touch against his back, but then Derek appears ahead of him and Stiles can see an enormous door before him.

 

Stiles pushes it open himself, and his phone buzzes in his pocket. Scott’s text reads, _derek’s dog won’t let me go anywhere but the movie room tell derek to tell him frick off._

 

Stiles laughs and pockets his phone again, putting it in his mind to remind himself after he takes a look. When he looks up from his phone, he is amazed at what greets him.

 

The room is a giant dome, spider-web designs running along the ceiling that is nearly pitch-black. Stiles steps forward into the room. “This is weirder than werewolves. My life is an actual Harry Potter movie.”

 

The ceiling, in response to his voice, lights up a bright blue, the color of the sky, and Stiles blinks in surprise. “Derek?” Stiles says, turning around, and Derek is standing with his arms crossed, looking up at the ceiling.

 

“This is the timeline,” Derek tells him in a quiet voice, but it echoes anyways. It creates a beautiful symphony and the room turns a light gold in response to it. “Ask it for a time.”

 

Stiles looks around at the fluctuating colors of the room. “Can it show me Scott being turned?”

 

All of a sudden, something moves _through_ Stiles’s body and he shouts in shock. He jumps back against Derek, his arms hitting Derek in the chest and he feels real and warm and human. Stiles looks up at him in surprise and Derek backs away. Stiles looks back at where a Scott apparition runs through the woods and something tackles him to the ground. It’s Peter Hale, Stiles knows, and then Scott is writhing on the ground.

 

“Stop.” The picture disappears. “I like this. Can it show me…” Stiles looks into the pools of Derek’s silver eyes. “You as a child?”

 

Derek’s eyes widen but the picture changes even as he opens his mouth and there’s little Derek, a chubby boy sitting on a pile of twigs. His eyes shine bright yellow as he giggles into his palm. He is gurgling in his throat and then giggles in joy at the noises he makes.

 

Derek, when Stiles takes a look, is watching the scene with an expression like shock.

 

“Enough,” Derek’s voice commands after a while of watching himself play in the mud and a mother in a caftan picking him up, playing with his hair. The screen goes black, and without a word, Derek opens the door and motions for him to get out.

 

They travel back down the staircase and Stiles wants to ask Derek if he’d ever been an alpha.

 

When they get back on the floor, Stiles says, “So…” and steps closer to him. “Where to now?”

 

Derek smirks the slightest bit, but then, the smile fades from his face and his eyebrows crinkle down in confusion as a dog’s howl echoes through the library. Stiles looks up. “Scott!”

 

Scott is running down the stairs, the great dane on his tail, barking and snarling, and Scott lands on all fours at Stiles’s feet. “He just attacked me,” Scott yells accusingly at Derek, hair thrown up and disheveled.

 

Derek addresses the dog, eyes shining, and the dog whimpers, bowing its head. After a second, Derek’s mouth opens the slightest bit, then snaps closed. He turns his neck towards Scott. “You asked how to fight a werewolf. Why would you fight your own kind?”

 

Scott looks at him in panic and his mouth opens. He stutters, “I didn’t know why he was keeping me there.”

 

“It was a test, to see what we would look for,” Stiles realizes, his stomach sinking. Derek’s eyes flash to him in anger. “Derek, you don’t understand--”

 

“And you were what? A distraction?”

 

“No! We’re not bad guys,” Stiles tries.

 

“You think you’re the first to come here and look for fighting strategies? New ways to defeat your enemies?” Derek steps closer, his cold gaze settling on Stiles who is backed into a wall. He looks like he’s _growing,_ towering over the two of them (right, all powerful spirit) and Scott lets out a threatening growl, placing himself between them. “Do you think it’s justified because it’s _your_ cause?”

 

The air seems to shatter as Derek’s form completely changes and he morphs, limbs bending until he is in the shape of a wolf the size of the doorway, head lowered and teeth bared.

 

Scott’s teeth retract and he opens his mouth, but then Derek speaks rather than pouncing. His mouth (muzzle?) isn’t moving, but his voice echoes throughout the room anyways. “This is what happens when humans figure out about us. When too much knowledge is given to those who wish to use it for themselves.” His voice is guttural, inhuman and very unlike his speaking voice.

 

The air feels heavy as Derek’s eyes glow silver and Scott’s shine in response.

 

“That’s why you’re like this?” Stiles shakes off Scott’s protective grip on his bicep. He begins to step closer and Scott breathes out “ _Stiles”_ in warning, but he keeps going, up to Derek’s slightly quivering body. Derek’s head reaches far over his head but if he reaches up, he’d be able to touch his muzzle. “Who would do this?”

 

“Hunters.” Derek’s mind says with malice in the word. “ _Humans_ ,” he adds. He doesn’t allow Stiles to touch at his mane, baring his teeth in warning. “Ones who believe the world is better without us. They burned one half of this library to the ground along with the family that lived here. They were massacred in their sleep when I wasn’t here to protect them.”

 

“The Hales,” Stiles guesses. Peter Hale, Scott’s alpha, had killed Kate for killing his family before offing himself.

 

Derek looks near to howling in sorrow or anger; Stiles isn’t sure because it’s difficult to read him like this. The only emotion that _is_ easy to read (or just imply) is underlying sadness as he droops his head down. Scott takes this as permission to step forward too, but Derek’s hackles rise and he roars, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“They were kind, provided me solace and,” he pauses for a moment. “Peace. But I trusted in the wrong people, let other _humans_ view this place, and they burned.”

 

“So you keep this place hidden,” Scott guesses. Stiles now knows why Derek stays in this form, It makes him feel sad and he looks down at the ornate floor patterns around the carpeting.

 

“Yes,” Derek says, eyes traveling to Scott. Stiles looks between the two of them. Then Derek closes his eyes and leans his head down. “Unfortunately, there is only one way to _keep_ it hidden.” The room begins to shake with unseen energy and Stiles begins to lose his balance, toppling towards Derek. Derek’s front paws are stomping against the ground, books falling off of the shelves. Stiles grabs for Scott who is in the same state of clumsiness and looks towards the doorway that is moving dangerously fast.

 

“Wait,” Stiles rushes to get out, head spinning. “You didn’t listen to our case. _Please_.” He doubts it will work with Derek’s fury tangible in the air, but then Derek _does_ stop, and the air goes still besides all of them panting with anticipation. He waits for Stiles to speak.

 

Stiles remembers the hand against Scott’s neck, pushing him into the brick wall, and Deucalion’s British accent whispering in his ear. _“You are not a Hale, are you?”_

 

“Do you remember a Deucalion?” Stiles asks. It’s a stretch, but Derek’s head snaps up and he figures he was right.  

 

This gets the opposite reaction of what he’d been hoping for. Stiles’s body feels weightless, his head spins, and in a second he’s shoved against the wall by some kind of energy force. The wind knocks out of him and he groans. The impact itself doesn’t hurt that badly, but the sudden force jogs his sore head a bit. Scott lands right next to him, hitting much harder than Stiles had and nearly cracking the plaster.

 

Derek advances on them slowly, pacing the red carpet and head faced the other way, as if he is deep in thought.

 

“What do you know of a Deucalion?” Derek demands. He turns his neck, only addressing Stiles, eyes glowing silver.

 

Stiles tries to lift up his hands but finds them restrained as well. “I know you have major trust issues, but stay tuned for what I’m saying. He’s who we’re trying to _stop._ He is a werewolf--” Derek growls in impatience. “Yes, yes, you know that. Well he’s also an _alpha,_ and he’s going through and killing the packs of other alphas to create a super-powerful pack of alphas.”

 

Derek sniffs at nothing. “He tried to keep the Hale alpha alive. Talia. The humans betrayed him as well in their acts.”

 

“And now he’s after Scott.” Scott nods helpfully again.

 

“We need a way to stop him because he is stronger than ever and won’t stop.”

 

The trembling along Derek’s back has settled down at least, and now his form is getting smaller.

 

“Derek,” Stiles tries. “We are not trying to use your knowledge to hurt anyone, I promise. They will kill many humans, and I know even you care about them a little more than you let on.”

 

“We will leave right away if you let us go,” Scott offers as well. “We won’t come back, or tell anyone about you. We’re sorry.”

 

There is a long moment of silence in which Stiles thinks Derek might just crush them, and then the wolf’s expression crumbles and he turns away. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut but then all of the weight in his body is back and he tumbles to the floor, right onto his ass. He groans in pain and sits up.

 

“No,” Derek’s mind tells them. It is full of power and terrifying. “Deucalion must be stopped; it is the only way to bring peace. You are right.”

 

Stiles sighs and lays back down onto the floor, Scott right next to him, and waits for his pounding heart to settle.

 

\--

It turns out that there’s not much that Derek can teach them about killing alphas. There’s no trick, like they’d been hoping for, no secret weapon. They can’t be that lucky, of course. But Derek _does_ know how to create a plan that is very strategized and will hopefully work in their favor.

 

Stiles, managing not to stare at Derek’s biceps as he rolls out a scroll to go over defense strategies for a group of five people, watches and hopes they can manage to pull this off.

 

\--

 

When they finally leave, they haven’t passed at all in time, and they drive back to Deaton’s. Erica is still asleep on a cot that Deaton has rolled in the back, Isaac is sitting in a chair with his head drooped and fast asleep, and Deaton is doing paperwork when they bust in the front door.

 

“Mr. McCall, Mr. Stilinski,” he greets.

 

Scott looks over to where Erica is lightly snoring, and then leans in just in case she’s listening in. “He found us out, and we have a plan.”

 

Deaton’s eyes go a little wide. “Did he? And he let you _go_?” Stiles feels a little offended at Deaton’s lack of confidence, but decides to let it go for now.

 

“He was more willing to help us once he figured out who we were up against,” Stiles informs him quietly. He thinks of Derek’s betrayed expression when he found out about their plan to fight and looks back up.

 

“Yeah, I mean, we have a common enemy,” Scott adds.

 

Deaton nods, closing his folder up. His mouth purses.  “That’s great then.”

 

Scott puts a hand on the table. “So, the plan is…”

 

\--

 

“Is this completely necessary?” Stiles asks when they return to the library and Derek insists on training for the two of them. Scott has gone off to read after his own “session” (very proffesional of Derek) and now it’s just the two of them. They’ve mostly been doing some heavy breathing and talking about how to punch in a proper form. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd aren’t allowed in the library per Derek’s orders, but they’re trying to learn as much as they can to relay the information. “All the karate and stuff.”

 

Derek has an old-fashioned outfit on like always, but his pants look just as much like exercise pants as Stiles’s do.

 

Derek cocks an eyebrow.

 

Stiles sighs, looking away from Derek’s pants. It takes immense willpower. “Right, I guess you know all. Whatever. What’s on the agenda?”

 

“Defense,” Derek answers before extending an arm and snatching onto Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles goes down to the ground with a huff. He rolls over and moves back into a stand.

 

“Cheater!”

 

“No one will warn you when they’re going to attack.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and dives at Derek with one hand out. Derek disappears right when he does, though. Because of the momentum, Stiles goes toppling and lands right on his wrist. Something cracks and he sees stars.

 

Derek appears before him, crouched down. He looks disappointed (that never really changes). “I said _defense_. You need to learn how to protect yourself before any kind of attack.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Stiles asks, but he’s very occupied in his purpling wrist. “I think I broke my wrist. You made me break my wrist. There couldn’t be any kinds of mats laying around? God.” He tries to move his hand but then there are two consecutive cracking noises and a flash of pain that makes him close his eyes. He figures that it’s just his luck to wound himself during a practice session, but the feeling of cool fingers brushing against his skin makes him open his eyes.

 

Derek is staring down at Stiles’s wrist with intent, fingers digging into the flesh, and there should be pain but there’s nothing. The purple begins to fade after long, and then Stiles begins to wiggle his fingers when he regains feeling in them. “Cool, thanks. I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

Derek makes an affirmative noise and stands again, helping Stiles to his feet. His hands are freezing cold, like ice on his skin.

 

“You have to be careful. I cannot heal you outside of this place.” His expression is serious. “Don’t use this as an excuse to be reckless.”

 

“Please,” Stiles answers. “I’m always extremely careful.” As he says this, he trips on a workbench and almost goes sprawling to the ground. Derek pulls him back up with a sigh and then tells him to get ready for another round.

 

Derek’s arms are a thing of wonders, and every time Stiles goes down on the ground, he’s drawn towards looking at them. Derek helping him up every time doesn’t help, with the flexing biceps and all.. Stiles thinks it’s pretty unfair for a spirit to be so attractive. He should be wrinkly and grayed like ancient beings are supposed to be.

 

During one of the examples of how to deliver a round kick, Stiles manages to make Derek tumble to the floor with a perfectly executed spin, and he shouts in victory as Derek rolls up fluidly. “Take that! A thousand years of experience taken down by the Stilinski skill.”

 

Derek actually smirks at that, and begins to advance. “Let’s see you do it again.”

 

Stiles isn’t prepared for the lightning-fast strike of Derek’s leg as he delivers a kick to Stiles’s front. It’s gentle by all means, but Stiles goes down, feeling like he’s lost all of his air. As Derek descends on him, Stiles crouches up and twists his body, kicking his leg out, and takes Derek down. With a jump, Stiles lands on top of Derek, knees bracketing his side, and they’re both panting with exertion.

 

Derek’s eyes are bright and so close, and his mouth is slightly open, letting out puffs of air. He leans up, and Stiles thinks he’s about to be spun over and have a knee jabbed into his stomach until he surrenders, but then--

 

Derek is kissing him.

 

Stiles arches up in surprise, separating them, but then his mind catches up and he lurches down again to capture his mouth because he is totally on board with this. It _aches,_ the feeling of his teeth, the cold brush of his tongue. But it’s so good, head spinning good, the chill of Derek’s palm running up his side and his jaw settled in Stiles’s hand. He is unbelievably smoothed out like marble and Stiles wonders if he’s even real, if he’s just a mirage and Stiles has succumbed to one too many concussions.

 

He feels a little out of his mind.

 

\--

 

“Will I learn healing?” Stiles asks the next time they show up. There has been another attack, and Derek is dressing the wound on Stiles’s arm with an intense gaze. Kali again, she got Stiles on his way to the store. Derek isn’t very talkative today and Stiles thinks he may need to prod some more before Derek answers.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Sounds good. If you can’t leave and help, I can at least use what I’ve got.”

 

Derek nods. He leans in, slowly, a hand on Stiles’s neck, pulling him in. “You have more power than you think,” he says against Stiles’s mouth, and Stiles presses in harder.

 

\--

“Do you and Derek have a thing?” Scott asks during a game night. Stiles fumbles with the remote and falls off of rainbow road. Damn it. He pauses the game and looks at Scott who is watching him with an innocent expression.

 

“I have no idea what you’re trying to ask me,” Stiles says, stuffs an entire handful of Cheetos puffs  into his mouth and chews loudly.

 

“You do too, we’ve been friends long enough that you know.”

 

Stiles swallows the dryness. After a long pause that lasts probably two whole minutes, he asks, “Would it be weird?”

 

Scott grins in triumph for guessing correctly but then shrugs. “The last person you were attracted to ended up disappearing in the woods and finding multiple dead bodies, so.”

 

Stiles sighs happily, thinking of Lydia.  “Love of my life.” Scott pokes him in the side, hard. “Ow, hey, strength!”

 

“Sorry. My point is that you could do worse.”

 

Stiles thinks of the library, a baby dressed all in yellow, and when Derek sometimes wears glasses for no real reason as he reads. He grins. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

 

\--

 

“Hey, Erica--” Stiles grunts as he’s thrown into the wall. “What’s wrong?” he asks calmly, trying to keep his cool. She has never been that nice to him since she was turned. He feels like there should be an established hierarchy even for humans-- one that says best friends of the alpha don’t get used as punching bags.

 

Not that she would listen.

 

“You and alpha boy are keeping something from us, aren’t you?” Erica’s breath smells like cinnamon and kick-ass. Stiles flounders against her grip and he shoves her off. Boyd and Isaac are standing behind her for backup. “Something about Deucalion. We want to know what it is now.”

 

“Why don’t you ask alpha boy yourself?” Stiles asks defensively. Erica’s eyebrow goes up and she pushes his shoulder back into the wall. “No, of course we’re not keeping anything from you.”

 

“Your heartbeat just jumped,” Erica says accusingly.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that usually happens when I’m scared of you punching me. Or maybe when I’m stressed, feeling anxious. Which happens 24/7. Now let me _go_.”

 

She does, her eyes widening, and then Scott is there against his side. “What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing,” Erica says, dispersing. Isaac follows quickly, but Boyd at least smiles at Stiles in apology. If Scott wanted, he could call them back, but instead he turns to Stiles and pats at the back of his head.

 

“This is becoming more complicated than I thought,” Stiles says. “We can’t have them angry at us or else this whole plan could go wrong.”

 

Scott sighs, watching the betas leave. “I know.”

 

\--

 

Stiles comes alone the Friday before the full moon. The door opens for him this time, and he finds Derek sitting at his desk, writing in a book. “Hey,” he breathes, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

 

“Hello,” Derek says, disinterested.

 

Stiles sticks a tongue out and thinks Derek doesn’t see it, but his eyebrow goes up. “Yes, Stiles?” he says, turning.

 

“You bookworm,” Stiles complains good-naturedly, tapping his feet with his hands. Derek sighs heavily and Stiles sees him roll his eyes. “Do you think we can pull this off?”

 

“I think so,” Derek tells him. He runs a hand through his hair and messes it up. Stiles stares for a while.

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he adds, probably a little too late.

 

“Stiles…” Stiles looks up. Derek has turned sideways and is looking down at him. Stiles pushes himself off of the ground and Derek follows him into standing. It feels too normal. “After Deucalion is defeated, you won’t need me anymore.”

 

“What’s that mean?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t just talk to you because you’re helping us.”

 

“Of course,” Derek answers. His eyebrows lower on his forehead.

Stiles steps forward. “Is this about _us?”_

 

Derek doesn’t say anything, but his expression answers the question for him.

 

“Oh my god. Is it because you’re a thousand years old? I’m sure there have been bigger age gaps.” Derek just looks more uncomfortable at this.

 

“What keeps everyone out keeps me here,” Derek says. He looks around himself, at the empty shelves, at his dog sleeping in the corner.  “I can’t leave. All of my power is invested in the shield to protect this help. I can’t help you with Deucalion because of it.”

 

“I’m okay with hanging out here,” Stiles admits, maybe feeling a little bit desperate. “You don’t have to be _alone_ forever.” Derek doesn’t reply for a while, staring at the far wall.

 

“I-- I can’t,” Derek says eventually, voice closing off. Stiles goes to open his mouth again, but it had sounded final.

 

Stiles backs up, looking around the room. “Okay. Okay, that’s just. That’s fine.” Derek looks up, like he hadn’t been expecting that answer. Stiles doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s not going to try and figure it out. “Thank you for all of your help. We’ll be able to do this. I know you’re not really one for people. So once we’re gone, we won’t bother you anymore.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, but Stiles is shaking his head, backing up some more. “You don’t--” he cuts off and his mouth closes again. “I can’t ask you to stay with me. Be alone, forever.”

 

Stiles kicks at the ground, can’t look at him. It was stupid to get invested in the first place. “But that’s exactly what you’re doing to yourself, isn’t it?” he asks.

 

Stiles leaves, shutting the door tight behind him, and doesn’t look back.

 

\--

 

They had to wait until the full moon, where the betas would be at their most powerful. The alphas would feel this pull, too, but it’s still in their favor because there are more of them anyways. The Argents join force with them. Scott is nervous about Allison being there, but Stiles is confident because the girl is an amazing shot.

 

The plan is for Stiles to lure them to the woods. It’s to make them think they have a well-thought plan and wait for Deucalion to try and ambush them. It’s a double ambush, really, because the pack is waiting outside on the street. Stiles thinks it fits them very well.

 

Of course the plan goes wrong.

 

It should have been a foresight, but Erica lets her guard down while Stiles is driving down the gravel road right in front of the preserve. He thinks he can feel the pull of the library even as he moves, but ignores it. Erica is purposefully not paying attention, probably, and Kali knocks her unconscious.

 

Kali finds him (it’s _always_ her-- maybe she has a thing for him) and slashes his tires in one swipe as he’s heading towards the woods. So then his car veers off the road, crashing into a tree.

 

Stiles thinks he passes out, first with a flash of light, and then everything goes dark for a long while.

 

He wakes to find someone hovering over him, and wonders if Kali is over him and waiting so he wakes just so she can kill him. He tries to thrash himself free, but then his vision clears and it’s Derek over him instead of Kali and he tries to breathe out, but finds  that he can’t.

 

“Stiles,” Derek says, voice rough, but all Stiles can do is cough up blood and close his eyes to try and shut out the pain. Stiles wonders how gone he is if Derek is there with him, how much blood he’s lost. Maybe he is dead. He’s pretty sure his gear shift is still in his abdomen by how violent the pounding of his heart feels in that area. Derek’s hand lifts him up, gently by the neck. His skin is warm as he prods at Stiles’s face. Stiles thinks his neck might be broken.

 

“You feel human,” Stiles says with a choke, his vision fading away, and then he’s gone.

 

\--

 

Stiles wakes up to the beeping of a hospital machine. It doesn’t sound as reassuring as Stiles would think. He has a crick in his neck and his mouth tastes like something died and then he ate it whole and swished it around like listerine. Slowly, he opens his eyes and squints at the too-bright light.

 

He hates hospitals.

 

“Hi honey,” Melissa says from his bedside, and Stiles jumps as much as he can while being restrained by her hand on his arm. He gasps, throat burning, and looks around the room. “You’re fine, you’re in the hospital.”

 

Stiles’s throat feels like sandpaper when he rasps, “I figured. Scared me.”

 

Melissa rolls her eyes. “You had a punctured lung from some broken ribs and a cracked shoulder. You also have a concussion, but you should make a good recovery. I’ll get you some ice cubes for your throat.”

 

“Thank you,” Stiles says, his energy already sapped and his eyes protesting every movement, and the last thing he remembers is her half-worried smile before he’s out like a light.

 

\--

 

There are voices in his head the next time he drifts into consciousness. His mouth still tastes horrible, but when he opens up his eyes, there are ice cubes sitting on his tray in a little styrofoam cup and his dad is sitting next to him, Scott right behind him.

 

“Hi,” Stiles greets, coughing slightly from his dry throat. Stiles’s dad hands him the cup so Stiles can take a cube and suck it into his mouth.

 

“I--” his dad begins. “I can’t begin with any words that would suffice. I’m glad you’re alive, but I’m also pissed.”

 

“That sounds like the best you could give,” Stiles rasps back with a smile.

 

Stiles dad rubs a hand over his mouth and Stiles hates that he looks exhausted. “I’m going to pick up some coffee.”

 

“Dad, go home. Go get some sleep.” It’s half because Stiles is sure John will pick up a second wind of rage any second.  

 

His dad opens his mouth to argue and then Scott pipes up. “I’ll call you if anything happens Sheriff. And he’s awake now.”

 

“That’s a good sign,” Stiles’s dad says with a sigh. He points at Stiles. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll be here,” Stiles jokes. All he can hear is his dad’s sigh as he leaves.

 

“Is everyone okay?”

 

“Everyone is fine, dude. Everyone’s alive and well.”

 

Stiles narrows his eyes. Scott has that same look on his face he always gets when he’s ditching Stiles for a date with Allison. He’s also picking at the skin around his fingernails. “You still look worried, though. What’s wrong?”

 

Scott looks deep in thought for a moment, then opens his mouth. “It’s Derek. They found his library,” Scott says. “Deucalion came for him.”

 

“What?” Stiles tries to sit up but then huffs violently in pain when it tugs at his chest. He falls back, but his eyes are open wide despite the flare of head-pain. His heart pounds and he begins to remember the brush of fingers across his face. “Did he get in?”

 

“I was expecting him going for there,” Scott says, placing a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and some black veins appear along his arm before the pain begins to fade away. Stiles figures those are the tricks Derek taught him. He kinda likes it, but it’s making his mind too fuzzy at the same time. “I caught him off guard. He’s dead, along with the rest of his pack. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac got Kali after you crashed. Ethan and Aiden surrendered before long when Allison threatened to skewer them.” Scott doesn’t look too pleased with this news despite the awesomeness of his girlfriend, and shrugs.

 

“I can’t believe I was asleep through almost all of the fight,” Stiles whines. Scott looks at him disapprovingly, and Stiles shoves an ice cube into his mouth. “ _What?_ I didn’t want to die, but you know me, always the helper. It sucks when I’m on the sidelines.”

 

“Please,” Scott pushes at his shoulder. “You did all the heavy work.”

 

Stiles grins, but then remembers the start of the conversation suddenly. “Where’s Derek then?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Scott says. “We don’t know. The library is gone.”

 

\--

 

On a Thursday when they should be in school, Stiles and Scott drive out to the preserve, because Stiles needs to check and make sure Scott was right. Stiles doesn’t feel a tug this time, his eyes don’t blur. He doesn’t feel anything.

 

\--

 

Stiles is at the grocery store about to start up his car when Erica hops in. He’s using his dad’s backup car he’d had before the cruiser and it doesn’t feel right to drive. Nothing really feels right, his skin is too tight and his shoulder is still wrapped tight enough to restrict his breathing, so Stiles has to drive with one arm.

 

Erica turns the radio down and Stiles shuts the engine off. “Yes?” he says, tired. He just wants to go home because he feels a headache coming on.

 

Erica straightens her shirt over her abdomen and then _looks_ at him. “Scott told me that you guys lied to us.”

 

Stiles rubs at his face. “Are you here to kick my ass because I lied? Can it wait? I need to be conscious to drive home.”

 

“No,” Erica’s mouth twitches up. “I wanted to see how you are.”

 

Stiles is actually surprised at that one. “Really?”

 

Erica rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Stilinski. I’m not _that_ horrible.”

 

Maybe not, he thinks. “I’m fine. Just recovering from my battle wounds.” He gestures towards his wrapped-up body.

 

Erica’s expression sombers. “I meant to apologize for that. Kali caught me off guard. It wasn’t on purpose, I promise.”

 

“I believe you,” Stiles nods. He _does,_ because Erica is a lot of threats, but she’s not all that bad. And maybe it was karma for lying to them in the first place.

 

“You need a ride somewhere?” Stiles asks, because the conversation has obviously run its course. She nods once, and so Stiles turns in his seat.

 

It takes him a second to try and turn the key because of his right arm, and then Erica asks, “Do you want me to drive? I have my license and everything.”

 

“You just choose to stalk around,” Stiles smiles. “Sure. Thanks.” He steps out of the car, sunglasses pushed onto his nose to protect from the fireball of pain that is the sun.

 

Stiles slips the car keys into Erica’s hands and she saunters over into the driver’s seat as Stiles blinks against the light, and sees Derek walks towards him through the parking lot for a split second. Stiles looks back up in shock.

 

_Derek is walking towards him._

 

He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a leather strap wrapped around his wrist. The curve of his jaw is covered in stubble now, softening the edges just a bit. His eyes glisten green and brown in the light, the slightest hint of silver in them and he looks tanner.

 

“How are you--” Stiles says, lost for words for once in his life. “I thought you left.”

 

“No,” Derek answers slowly, and steps toward Stiles. Stiles meets him halfway. “You were dying. I couldn’t let you.”

 

“So what? Did you give up living forever?” Stiles asks. “I thought you couldn’t leave the library.”

 

“I couldn’t.” He shrugs, and it isn’t fair how modern he is when Stiles knows better.

 

Stiles grunts in frustration. The car door opens and Erica sticks her head out. She eyes them closely before shaking her head and closing the door again, all without saying anything. “So what? You’re human now?”

 

Derek, reaching up with his hands, grows his claws out and touches Stiles’s face with them. His eyes glow a deep red. Alpha. “Not quite.”

 

“Well fuck you,” Stiles says, but it’s said even as he tugs Derek in to kiss him. “You didn’t have to give up all of that knowledge.”

 

Derek licks his lips. “I've been alive long enough to know what I want.”

 

This time he pulls Stiles in, and Stiles agrees, and thinks that it's about time.


End file.
